


Dangerous Men

by sku7314977



Series: Brothers [2]
Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Captor Bonding, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possessive Hannibal, Possessive Nigel, Sequel to Seeing Double, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, mafia, more tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sku7314977/pseuds/sku7314977
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Will doesn't come home after his trip to Bucharest Hannibal takes it upon himself to find his missing mongoose and bring him home. </p><p>Meanwhile Nigel works to keep him and his kidnapped darling safe from the rivaling drug lords out for vengeance and blood.</p><p>A sequel to Seeing Double.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I think a lot of my lovely readers have assumed that because I didn't jump on this as soon as I finished _Seeing Double_ that I wasn't going to write it. Not the case, I just have a million stories bouncing around in my brain all at once and wanna write everything at the same time. XD
> 
> So, just to put everyone at ease a little bit here is the introduction to the sequel. I have part of the first chapter written and as soon as I get that finished up I'll send it off to be beta'd and post it up to follow. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who took the time to read _Seeing Double_ and have been anxiously anticipating the sequel, I will my best to make this story as enjoyable as the first~ <3 <3 <3
> 
> Beta read by the beautiful and amazing Diedofennui ~<3 Thanks babe!

The deep creases of ire sat heavy on Hannibal’s handsome face.

This was unacceptable.

It had been five days since he’d left a bloody message of entrails for the profiler to find, three since he’d shared his bed – Will should have been home by now.  He should have been exploring the meaning behind a personal message left by the Ripper, and seeking Hannibal for support. He should be consumed with winding his mind around the killer, and in the process lose another piece of his soul to the darkness of Hannibal’s. And he should be soothing Will with a half empty bottle of port and light conversation, suggestive, a flush of warmth beneath the younger man’s skin – a perfect blend of lust and good liquor.

Instead he sat in his sitting room alone, a half-finished glass of wine at his side and his tablet in hand, staring in contempt at the black and white photo of his sweet William in the România Liberă.  It shouldn’t be there.

Missing:  FBI Special Agent Will Graham.

He had thought at the airport that the kiss would have been enough to keep Will’s mind occupied, stop him from seeking another during his time away.  After he was proven wrong by his brother’s relentless pursuit of Will, Hannibal had been sure that the physical confirmation of their budding relationship would surely bring him home, keep him from seeking Nigel any further, and have him longing for Hannibal’s embrace.

It had worked. Will had refused his brother, but Hannibal hadn’t predicted this outcome.

Apparently, phone calls and yearly visits weren’t enough to keep them close, or to keep Hannibal easily ahead of his brother’s own keen mind.  Years ago he would have anticipated every possible outcome that Nigel would consider – Hannibal hadn’t anticipated this, and he should have.

He’d underestimated Nigel’s desire for the profiler and now they were both gone.

“Nigel,” Hannibal addressed, lifting his glass as he spoke to no one and nothing. He finished the rich vintage in a single unappreciative swallow, setting the glass aside with his tablet, and rising to take the steps up to his room.

“You should know better than to play hide and seek with me.”

OoOoO

TBC


	2. Catch Me If You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel and Will flee Bucharest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited for this story. It's the one I've been planning and poking for ages getting everything ready for, all of Seeing Double has been leading up to this and having so many of you lovely readers following it with me makes me unbelievably happy~<3 <3 <3
> 
> Thank you all for following me through to the sequel story. I hope I can make this story everything you want it to be. 
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Beta read by Diedofennui who is too brilliant for words and who I continue to drown in too many chapters.

“Almost there darling,” Nigel said, pressing a kiss to the quiet man’s temple.  Will’s head lolled to the side with the gentle affection of a ragdoll.  Nigel cupped his cheek, running a thumb along his jaw as he looked into slow-blinking drug-dazed eyes, felt the sharp bristles of two days growth against the pad of his thumb. Even like this, Will was beautiful.  It made Nigel want to hold him, keep him close and reassure him that everything would be alright.

Stormy blue eyes blinked lethargically as they focused on no one and nothing, looking through or past Nigel instead of meeting his maroon eyes.  It wasn’t how Nigel liked to see his darling, eyes glazed and mind vacant.  If it wasn’t a necessity he never would have allowed it, Will’s mind too precious a thing to keep dormant with drugs. 

“I promise it will be alright,” he reassured, knowing Will wouldn’t remember the kind words or gentle voice, the softness in his eyes meant only for his darling. “Then you can wake up.” 

He brushed a stray curl behind Will’s ear and pushed his wheelchair toward the revolving doors.  It had taken longer to catch a flight to France than Nigel had anticipated. There was an estimated fourteen hours left of Will’s docile behavior before the drug wore off and he was forced to deal with a very pissed off profiler.

He needed to have Will settled in their new safe house before that happened.  He doubted the man would be very agreeable upon waking, and there was still a considerable drive ahead of them. Nigel considered the aid of an additional sedative to keep his darling compliant.

Compliant…

He didn’t like that. It wasn’t William, wasn’t the man who’d broken into the storage container on his roof or stolen a gun from his apartment. His William had fire, and Nigel wanted that back.

But he certainly wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable fight. Even if Will didn’t recall the happenings prior to the cloud of powder, he was still clever enough to realize that where Nigel was taking him – where he’d soon wake up – wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

How much, exactly, would his darling remember?

Burundanga was truly a wonderful drug, he thanked the Columbians for it everyday, for all the fucking fun he had with it. But it was something he’d never wanted to use on Will.  Nigel had wanted Will to come to him on his own, freely, picking him over fucking Hanni.

He wouldn’t be getting that now. The damage was done, the trust between them destroyed.  He would have to rebuild that trust one block at a time.

A child in the airport baggage lounge pointed excitedly toward Will’s wheelchair and Nigel tried to ignore the embarrassed shushings of the girl’s mother. Other eyes turned toward them, studying them with open curiosity.

He was trying not to draw attention to himself, and certainly not to Will. People were fucking unable to mind their own business. He knew that, was used to it.  People rubberneck every time someone outside the sphere of their everyday lives comes into view.

The wheelchair shouldn’t be drawing this much attention, people casting sidelong glances to see if Will appeared handicapped or disabled. They should be minding their own goddamn business.

At least that was his opinion on the matter.  The only time Nigel stole a second glance at a stranger was to see if they were was packing, and that applied to everyone in equal parts.

More important than the crowd’s reasons for ogling, was the simple fact that they were. Their second and third glances made them witnesses, a trail of human breadcrumbs for his brother to find.  The less they were noticed the better, the less people for Hannibal to hunt down and question the better.  It wouldn’t stop Hannibal from finding them, but it would slow him down.  The only way to keep safe from his brother was to keep moving and never stop, to stay one step ahead of him.

Even then, eventually, Hannibal would catch up.  He had a knack for catching his prey.

Only Nigel wasn’t any goddamn animal to be hunted, he was just as much predator as his brother.

Nigel wasn’t really the type for indefinite world travel. He had enough problems without also trying to permanently avoid Hannibal, problems like Marku and Iosif.  They’d be gunning for him now.  Ouroboros was split and now the men and women would have to choose sides, Nigel or whoever the fuck was filling in for Iosif –since he’d blown a spare hole in his skull.  Marku had wanted to take a piece out of his ass since he’d started taking turf. Nigel going on the run with a divided group and weak standing in new territory was a tempting opportunity for the competitors.

….competitors that he’d spent the last few years pissing off.

If the tables were turned, he’d sure as hell take the opening to pay Marku a visit and paint his walls with gray matter.

If it weren’t for the precious commodity he had in tow, Nigel would have made a point of taking out Marku and Iosif’s replacements before rebuilding his empire.  It was still something that would have to be handled, but he’d be pursuing it a whole lot more carefully with Will at his side.

For starters, he had to convince Will to stay, show the man he was better off with Nigel than with his brother. And he had to do it quickly, get a handle on their relationship before Hannibal showed up at his door.  Nigel had no delusions about it: Hannibal would find them.   It wouldn’t be easy. Nigel had too many fake identities lying around to make the hunt simple. Not even with the help of the FBI would Hannibal’s pursuit be straightforward.  But Hannibal knew him, and that knowledge was better than any video feed equipment or ID scanner.

Nigel had watched his brother hunt down men with little more than a vague memory of their face and raw desperation for revenge.  He had full faith that Hannibal would do it again. For that reason, Toulouse, France wasn’t their final destination, just a stop along the way, one meant to throw of their pursuers. And there would be plenty of those soon enough… only they would be searching for the missing profiler in a city he was about to vacate.

They departed the airport through a rotating door, Nigel immediately greeted by one of his women on the other side.  He wasn’t restricted to Romania, he had other contacts, other businesses. They weren't as powerful as his stronghold in Bucharest, but they were enough for easy travel and a foothold to get him started on rebuilding his empire, new irons in the fire.

“The car?” he asked quickly.

The woman greeted him with a nod, almost a polite bow, and handed him the keys to a 1980 Hyundai.  It was ugly, had probably undergone enough repairs that only portions of the remaining shell were original, but it would run for miles. Most importantly it had none of the GPS tracking crap attached to so many new models, and with its shitty paint job, it would blend into the stream of cars like something invisible.

Now you see me, now you fucking don’t.

He and Will were about to disappear.

“Perfect,” he smiled, carefully loading his darling inside.

God bless handicap spaces and counterfeit tags, they hadn’t needed to trek far to reach the vehicle.  He eased Will into what was obviously a reupholstered seat, and buckled him in for safe keeping, running his fingers through soft wavy locks one more time before closing the door.  Nigel doubted he’d need the wheelchair again, but it was better safe than sorry. If he needed to change vehicles or further sedate his lovely profiler, he certainly didn’t need to gain additional attention by carrying his lover over his shoulder.

Nigel took quick inventory of the items loaded into the trunk.  A flat of water, bags of clothes, food for the long car ride, the new passports, and the IDs he’d requested. Yes, Chloé was up for a raise.

He shifted the water and took a peek underneath in a hidden compartment: a duffel bag of money and another of guns.  Perfect.  They’d be set for months. It gave Nigel the extra time to lie low, making arrangement with his still loyal followers and working on gaining some leverage in the new area up for conquering.

It would take time. Weeks, months, years? It all depended on who he had to fuck up to gain some territory.  Time Nigel didn’t have.  Gaining ground would demand patience, and that was a virtue he’d never had nor wanted.  At least he’d have the distraction of his darling while he was forced to wait.

His sweet William would need him while he became accustomed to his new life and surroundings.

Nigel had thought long and hard about his options to regain Will’s trust during the flight from Bucharest to Toulouse. He knew he was going to lose him once the younger man woke and realized what had happened. Nigel could lie, depending how much Will remembered, weave him a story of smoke and mirrors in just the way that his brother liked to play with Will’s mind.

But in all honesty, he didn’t want to.  He wanted Will to desire all of who he was, the good and the bad.  Nigel understood that you couldn’t have love without trust and trust came with honestly, not intricate lies and deception.  He wanted to be honest with Will.  He wanted to give him everything while keeping him safe, not just from the other mob bosses gunning for him, but also from Hannibal.

His brother had a certain sense of self-preservation that tended to leave a river of blood in his wake.  More than once he’d alluded to Will’s skills as a profiler, his work toward tracking the Chesapeake Ripper and how close he was coming with the unique understanding he possessed for the killer – for Hannibal.  His brother knew he was playing with fire, tempting fate with every late night dinner and evening drink, but he just couldn’t help himself, and ultimately that could only lead to one thing.

One day Will would figure it all out, and then he would be given a choice.  He could join Hannibal, step knee deep into that river of blood that would turn into a sea, or he could die.  The choice would be made by quick actions and gut responses.  Would he reach for his gun or his phone?  Go to Jack and inform him he’d found the Ripper, or begin a new life with Hannibal?

If Will went to Hannibal, told him he knew, chose to join him, to kill with him…he would live.  But it would be the only way he would be allowed to live.

Nigel didn’t want to change Will from who and what he was. He didn’t need blood on Will’s hands in order to accept him, he just needed Will to love him back.

Which brought him back to trust, the one thing he was going to have a bitch of a time earning back after having drugged and kidnapped his darling.  He needed a way to gain that again.

There was the option of more drugs if necessary.  Nigel sure as hell had access to more than enough if he wanted to influence Will by chemical means, something he knew his brother was a bit of a fan of.  But again, not something Nigel wanted to do to Will.  Another schmuck, someone he didn’t give a shit about beyond getting a payout or location or some shit like that, sure.  But this was different. Chemicals weren’t love.

The better choice was to try for Stockholm Syndrome, a far more likely choice and one already well underway.  It wouldn’t make Will love him, but it would have him trusting him again, make him dependant enough that Nigel could trust him to stay close, not try to run off when they needed to move again.

Hell, he’d had that started before they’d been forced to flee.

Nigel grabbed two bottles of water, a bag of trail mix, and some jerky from the trunk. He shoved the folded up wheelchair inside, handed his employee a wad of cash from his pocket, and climbed into the driver’s seat. He rolled the engine, listened to it groan and pulled out of airport parking.  It was a long drive to the safe house, and Nigel wanted to make it before dawn.

Before Will woke up.

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are jet lagged and looking for coffee while your comments are belting out road trip tunes and kicking the back of a killer's seat. 
> 
> Will is watching scenery and thinking of puppies and Hanni.


	3. A Little Irrational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's taken the time to leave me a comment, honestly it's amazing to see so many people care about this story and have been enjoying it so much. <3 <3 <3
> 
> I hope you'll all enjoy the rest of this fanfic and join me in figuring out how this story is suppose to end. I'm not entirely sure my who wins who and who doesn't or if this is somehow going to end in a happy little triad. No freaking clue yet. I've felt this story be puled in 4 different directions for 4 different endings as I've been writing and at this point I wouldn't be able to give it away if somebody asked. 
> 
> Alright, enough rambling. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!
> 
> I own nothing yet...someday I hope to own Cats Cradle and Dangerous Men. :B
> 
> This was beta read by Diedofennui who did the most amazing job on this chapter. There were points in this I felt were almost awkward in their wording and DoE did an AMAZING job smoothing this all out into something beautiful. Thank you darling~<3

He felt like he was swimming.  Limbs loose and mind foggy, Will floated through the blackness with a sense of contentment.  It reminded him of the warm summer nights he spent in the dockyards when he was a kid, swimming through fresh and salt water harbors and lakes for hours, resting back against the waves as his limbs began to tire. He would ride the gentle currents and just breathe, watch the sky change from blue to pink and twilight purple.

It was a good memory, one with the sweet smell of seawater and brine. But he didn’t smell the ocean now… nor hear the cry of gulls, or the mumble of drunk fisherman on shore.

He heard songbirds and smelled coffee.

It eased Will awake with the same pleasant tingle that the gentle drifting had given him in sleep, a sense of safety and comfort tugging him awake with the smell of coffee and cigarettes.  It was a welcomed scent that made his nose itch and brought more pleasant memories to mind, thoughts of those few mornings he woken with Nigel.

Will moved, stretched beneath covers, and felt the cool slide of sheets against his skin, the push of a pillow across his smooth face.  It was comfortable, nearly soothing enough to have him drifting off again despite the promise of caffeine and strong warm arms waiting for him.

A breeze filtered into the room, something made sweet with wild flowers and grass that had Will thinking of Wolf Trap, his little boat in the field and pile of dogs that always made his sheets smell like dander instead of clean laundry.

Will’s mind reminded him that he wasn’t home, he was in Bucharest, at least he ought to be, though his shitty little rental apartment didn’t smell anything like clean soap and wild flowers.

Realization hit him like a slap to the face. Blue eyes flew open as he bolted upright, adrenalin whipping through his system in a shock. A gasp, hands fisting the sheet that pooled around his waist, eyes searching the foreign room, looking for anything familiar in the alien atmosphere.

He threw back the covers and put his feet on the floor, grounding himself with the feel of something solid underfoot.  Not a dream then, not with the cool ceramic chilling his feet and the kiss of a breeze on his shoulders.

Will stood, eyes flicking from red salamanca tile and white stucco walls, to rafter-lined ceiling and rustic hardwood furniture.  None of this should be here…no, he’s the one who shouldn’t be here – wherever “here” was.  He swallowed hard and spotted an ashtray, a half-smoked cigarette left burning inside, and next to it a mug of coffee.  He cast another look around the room and approached the small table by the open window, touching the mug’s side to feel heat radiate against his fingers.

His company – whoever they may be – hadn’t been gone for long.  Given the cigarette left to burn, they had every intention of coming back. 

Will turned to the window, glass opened to let sunlight and fresh air into the small living space.  Throwing aside gauze curtains that billowed in the breeze, he looked over a vast expanse of grassy field before his eyes focused on something more immediate, and more worrisome: iron bars that caged him inside. He grabbed them by instinct, giving them a shake to test their solidity –definitely real.   

“Jesus Christ.”

Heart hammering, he looked for the door. There were two in the room set opposite each other. One, he supposed, would lead him out, but likely not before leading further into the strange foreign house. Surely there was a window without bars somewhere, an unlocked door? The other he would have assumed to be a closet if not for the standing wardrobe in the corner. A bathroom perhaps?

Dropping the cigarette in the coffee mug, he grabbed the ashtray, felt the heft of its weight in his hand and adjusted his grip, holding it tighter.

Whoever had taken him had also taken the time to change him into sweatpants, the jeans and shirt he’d been wearing in the police station apparently gone.  He would have felt _more_ comfortable if he also didn’t smell of clean soap and aftershave.

His captor had stripped him, bathed him, shaved him, and put him to bed.  It made his skin crawl wondering what else they might have done while he was out.

He padded quietly across the floor to the nearest door, holding his breath as he took the doorknob in hand, gripping the ashtray that much tighter, and threw it open.  It was an en suite, as expected.

The sound of a knob turning and the creak of hinges behind him had Will pivoting, ashtray raised and muscles wound for an attack…

“Morning gorgeous,” Nigel greeted from the doorway, a second fresh cup of coffee in hand and fond smile on his lips.

Will hurled the ashtray, nailing Nigel in the shoulder hard enough to have him dropping the mug with a splash before Will tackled the larger man to the ground.

Nigel cursed something low and foreign and wrapped his arms around Will like a vice; trapping the younger man against him even as he pushed to writhe free.

“You’re acting fucking irrational darling,” Nigel managed, teeth clenched as Will dug his elbow into ribs, forcing another guttural curse from the man he’d fucked so willingly days before.

“You drugged me you asshole!”

Will hadn’t remembered when he’d awakened, mind moving too quickly to thoughts of escape before thinking to question how he’d gotten there, or the man who’d betrayed him.  He remembered now. 

“There’s nothing irrational about this!” he hissed, jerked against the larger body that moved to twist their bodies back into the room, forcing Will back into his cage.

“I can explain-” he growled, fighting the reflex to knock Will’s teeth down his throat as pearly whites sank into Nigel’s clavicle.  He threw Will into the room with quick movements and brutal strength, slamming the door behind them before the man could bolt. 

“Pula mea.” 

He touched his tender collarbone and felt the dimpled teeth marks, slick with saliva.

Will was already back on his feet, a spot of blood coloring his lips.  Nigel might have enjoyed the look if it wasn’t his own fucking blood staining his darling’s mouth.

“You drugged me.”

“I had to.” Touching the bite again, his fingers coming away red with the slow ooze of blood. “You were going to leave.”

“And that was my choice to make,” Will countered. “You don’t get to drug me because I decide I don’t want to be with you Nigel.  That’s not how relationships work.”

He leveled Will with a look, flat and serious. “No, of course not. You fuck their fucking brother and run away to them instead.  I get it, you want Hanni, but you can’t go with him.”

“That’s not your choice Nigel!” he shouted, ire rising. 

He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, as dangerous as he’d known Nigel to be, he hadn’t expected the man to kidnap him to get what he wanted. 

“It’s my decision. You don’t own me, no matter how many tags you suck into my skin.  It’s not your call.”

“I want you Will. That doesn’t mean I want to keep you as a fucking ornament, a thing. You say you won’t fucking be with me?  Fine. But you’re being hunted Will.  People are looking for you now, and if they find you, they’ll kill you.  I’d be surprised if they weren’t already waiting for you at home.”

It wasn’t good enough, not to Will.

“You couldn’t explain that to me?  You had to fucking drug me?  Kidnap me?” 

He grabbed the leg of his pants, wild now with anger: “What the hell did you do to me Nigel? Wash me, change me?”

Wiping blood off onto his pants, Nigel walked the short distance to the window, picking up his cooling coffee to take a sip. He grimaced and spit it back into the cup, casting a disdainful look to the floating cigarette butt.  At least that explained what happened to the smoke he’d left in the ashtray.

“I didn’t touch you,” he answered, abandoning the cup on the table. “You did everything on your own.” 

All he’d done was hand the man a shaving kit and ask him to clean up.  Will had just followed orders, cleaned himself up and put himself to bed, dropping off when Nigel told him to sleep.

“Burundanga?”

He wasn’t proud of what he’d done… not to Will. Anyone else and he’d be laughing, but not with Will. 

“Yeah.”

Will knew he’d been drugged with something, his head didn’t hurt enough to suggest a concussion and the huge black space in his memory suggested he’d been knocked out, or sedated at least, but burundanga? He shook his head.

“I trusted you.”

“You trust me so much you throw a fucking ashtray at me instead of asking why I did it. You can’t guilt me over this Will.  I’m did it to protect you and that’s not something I’m about to regret.”

It was Will’s opinion that the most frightening phrase in the world, consistent throughout history, was “This is for your own good.”  He didn’t see Nigel’s slight variation being any better, and he certainly didn’t need that death sentence directed at him. 

“So your solution is to kidnap me instead of taking five fucking minutes to explain all of this outside the station?”

Nigel prepared his impressive counter argument: “Iosif and Marku….”

“Iosif is dead,” Will interrupted, “and it’s only a matter of time before Marku is arrested. That’s not a good enough reason to fucking drug me Nigel.”

“Marku got away, and Iosif would have been replaced the moment a bullet passed through his skull.  Ouroboros has divided.  I turned on Iosif, and half of our men turned on me.  I did that for _you_.  I don’t know who’s taken his place at the top yet but they’re going to be looking for us now. You for having been the cause and me for having pulled the trigger.” 

Nigel used Will’s moment of hesitation to continue with another deep breath: “It’s the same with Marku, he’ll find himself a new little place to hide, lay low for a bit and then he’ll be coming for us.” 

They were being hunted. Three parties gunning for them and Nigel had barely more than a foothold to work from. In truth, he wasn’t nearly as bitter about losing his fucking organization as he was about Hannibal nearly succeeding in taking Will away, back to Baltimore. 

 “You could have told me all of this Nigel,” Will said again, walking towards the door.  He grabbed the knob, turned and felt it stop.  Locked.  That meant Nigel had a key.

That meant Will really was a captive.

“I think we both know you wouldn’t have listened,” Nigel said, taking the seat he’d been enjoying a coffee and smoke in not fifteen minutes before. 

“You would have told me you were FBI, that you had connections, that you’d be safe.  You would have gone home and they would have slit your throat before you’d made it off the fucking plane.”

Because that was the way these men operated.

If Will _did_ make it home safely, Nigel knew that he and Hannibal would end up laying low together, Will in the protective arms of his fucking twin – the brother that Will had chosen over him.

For his part, Will felt like he was talking to a wall: “That was my choice Nigel, my mistake to make.”

“They would have followed you home Will, they would have killed you.  Killed the people you loved in front of you to make you suffer: Your friends, coworkers, dogs, the fucking lunch lady if they thought you might give a shit.” 

They’d likely kill Hannibal too… if they could catch him.

“Fine, you did this for my own good. That still doesn’t explain to me why you had to drug me.”

“Too many people were watching Will.” 

He watched his lover, ex-lover, scowl.  He had hurt him. He didn’t like the pain and disappointment in Will’s eyes; he didn’t like knowing that he was the source of it, when he’d been gifted with so many soft smiles not two nights before. 

“We needed to start moving and I didn’t have the time to have a fight.  You wouldn’t come.  I made you come.”

“You didn’t even give me the chance.”

“I know that people were watching and we didn’t have the time,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from sounding like a plea. He tapped out a cigarette from his soft pack to light up.

“You couldn’t have offered me a lift to the airport and talked this through in the car?”

“Would you have listened?”

“I never had any reason not to until now.” 

That cut Nigel deeper than any knife he’d taken to the side and Will could see it, the sharp pain reflecting through hard maroon eyes as he tried to mask it.  He thought he was protecting Will, keeping him safe from harm, maybe even loved him enough to do it even if it meant making Will hate him in the process.

“Darli-”

“Don’t call me darling.” 

Nigel met those lovely stormy eyes he’d ached to have meet his own so many times before, and this time met only rage. 

“Don’t call me gorgeous either. It’s Will, just Will,” he snapped. He wasn’t in the mood to be wooed. “I’m nothing to you anymore,” he continued, jerking the handle again, furious. “Now let me out.”

Nigel felt it to his core, the deep seated ache of something torn from him.

But he wouldn’t let it go that easily. 

“No Will.  I can’t let you leave.” 

He stood from the table, drawing a long breath from his cigarette before crushing the cherry with his fingers and flicking the stick out the window.

“You might hate me, but I won’t let them kill you. Them or Hanni.”

“Hannibal?”  Will could have laughed, “Your brother Hannibal?  Hannibal is my friend Nigel” – _boyfriend?_ – “he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Nigel breathed a curl of smoke, letting it slowly kiss the air before he stalked toward Will.

The way he turned, strode toward him, Will could only describe it as a prowl. He grabbed the forgotten ashtray, gripping it tight as Nigel approached. 

“You can’t keep me here Nigel.”

“I can,” he said calmly, reaching behind his back, lifting his shirt to pull a gun from the waist of his pants and cock it in Will’s direction, “and I will.”

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are scolding Will for throwing ashtrays at his _boyfriend_ , your comments backhand Nigel for pulling a gun of his darling.


	4. For Your Own Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAHAHAHAHA!!! I have written stuff and things and even found the time to type them out again! 
> 
> So recently I changed jobs…again. This one is treating me like gold which is an amazing change from the emotional abuse I’ve received from some of my past employers. It’s repaired a lot of damage I didn’t know I had and I started writing again (mostly on bus, my car died). 
> 
> I would like to thank you all for your patience and not giving up on me. As I have said many, many times before, I may be slow as balls but I will finish everything eventually. <3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Written by me. 
> 
> Not beta read.

A gun.

Of course Nigel would have a gun. Will should have expected that from the moment he’d woken in the strange room.  The fact that his kidnapper was Nigel hadn’t changed the likeliness of the psychopath possessing a weapon and Nigel liked ones that went _bang_.

The real surprise was seeing the barrel of said gun pointed at him.

But, Nigel had drugged him, kidnapped him – why wouldn’t he hold a weapon to Will’s chest and threaten to take the only thing he had left?

He should have expected it.  He should have expected a lot of things.  But he’d wanted to ignore the danger lurking beneath the surface of maroon eyes brimming with interest and desire for him, and now he was being dragged into the oceans depths of truths to drown.

Will had thought he’d figured Nigel out, knew the killer as well as he’d known a hundred men before him.  He thought that he was the exception to Nigel’s brutality.  He was beginning to understand that what he knew about the monster from Bucharest was very, very little.

Will had been placing bind bets since landing in Bucharest and until the car outside the police station those bets had been paying.  But he had never been a lucky man and that streak of luck had just run out.

He had known, he’d called him out while in the shower and still he’d chosen to sleep with a monster.  He had chosen to turn a blind eye to his crimes and enjoy the feel of hands on his skin and whispers of praise and desire.

Will took a breath and tried to slow the thrumming of his heart.  He needed to stay calm or at the very least fake that he was.  He forced his breaths even and slow and made steel colored eyes meet his captors.

Acrimony.  Rancor.  _Jealousy_.

All directed toward Will.

The night Will slept with Hannibal he’d opened a wound straight to Nigel’s core and with his intent to abandon he’d left that wound to fester.  Wounded animals were unpredictable.  They acted without thought or reason.

Will had made the mistake of closing his eyes and covering his ears to the song of Nigel’s true nature in favor of ignorance and bliss and he was paying for that now.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

Will opened himself to his empathy and finally, let the psychopath inside.  His sense of betrayal was the first thing that swept through him.  Anger toward his brother for stealing Will away from him, hurt for Will’s cheating, and frustration for the Profilers stubborn refusal to understand his efforts to keep him safe…his twisted affections.

Nigel wouldn’t kill him. 

Drug him, kidnap him, anything to keep him safe.  But he wouldn’t _kill_ him.

Then again, there are some fates worse then death.

His stomach dropped and Will was forced to ask himself again exactly how much did he really know about Nigel Lecter?

“I’m calling your bluff.”  He finally said.  “You killed you partner for me Nigel.  You’re not about to kill me.”  It was a challenge, almost.  One he really didn’t want to push more than he had to.  Staring down the barrel of a gun Will didn’t know if he was faking bravado or stealing it from some lingering trust he still had in Nigel.

Will all the trouble he’d already gone through to get Will this far, he wasn’t end it all with a bullet to the brain.  But there was a vast difference between a fatal shot and a wounding one.  Will could be incapacitated with a bullet to the knee and more efficiently trapped if Nigel so choose to make good on his threat.  But kill him?  No, at least not yet anyway.  If he took Will’s life it would only be after a long hard battle for his affections.

Nigel’s aim didn’t weaver, his grip solid, intensions masked – even to Will.  He wasn’t about to let Will know one way or the other what hand he was holding.  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me _William._ ”  He said with an edge, bitterness bleeding into the name.  “I wouldn’t be too speculative about the man holding a gun who’s brother I fucked, if I were you.”

Will didn’t flinch, not outwardly, his gaze held steady on the firearm while his heart beat quickened within his chest to a racing pound.  Nigel was jealous and jealousy was dangerous, it had certain instincts screaming for Will to reconsider his boldness.  Change his tactics and appease the monster in front of him.

“Her name,” Nigel began, mouth curled in a sneer, “was Gabriel Ibanescu.” The story had only just begun and Will already knew he wasn’t going to enjoy it’s ending.  “She had been my world, my _life_.  I loved that woman with every fiber of my being and for a while, I thought she felt the same.  I thought she loved me back as wholly as I fucking adored her.”  The sneer broke into a bitter smile, “Until she cheated on me.”  He gave Will a second to let that sink in, let the weight of his sins be felt, “I can turn a blind eye to many things William, many things.  But cheating?  Adultery?  I can’t forgive that so easily.  I gave her a chance, her and Charlie, to set things right.  For Charlie to get the fuck out of Bucharest and my sweet darling Gabi to come home.”  He wets his lips, recalling the story with bitter memory.  “They didn’t want a second chance William, are you following me?  No, they wanted an example.”  He could still remember the smell of copper in the air, the terror in Charlies eyes as he was incapacitated, left lying in the dirt with _his wife_.  He didn’t deserve to be buried with her, but he had been.  Whimpering with every shovel full of dirt laid on top.  “I’ve been a widower six months William, and that was my wife with a stranger.  You fucked my twin.”

Will was suddenly becoming very aware of just how deep the wound he’d opened ran and the river of blood that ran from Nigel’s brutality.  A river he had fallen into and was being pulled under. 

He had picked the wrong man to sleep with. 

Still, he stood his ground.  “You didn’t drag me all the way out here just to kill me Nigel.”  He swallowed back the sour bile of fear, stepping forward to face the monster standing between him and the door.  “You brought me here to make me yours.  You’re not taking no for an answer because you have no intention to.  Are you really going to force yourself on me like this?”  He stopped with the nose of the gun pressing into his sternum.  Nigel’s hold on the steal, never wavering as it pressed against his skin.  “That isn’t love Nigel.”

The bad man smiled, “This is what I missed.”  He reached out to touch him, brush a curl back from the beautiful face he’d praised both on paper and in flesh, not nearly enough; and was met with violence.  Will caught him with his teeth, hands grabbing him by the arm to keep him still as ivory sunk into skin and copper erupted over the profiler’s tongue.

“Pizdă!”  It was with last minute thought that Nigel dropped the gun instead of whipping its butt against his lover’s skull.  Fighting the instinct to drive Will’s pearly whites down his throat he instead grabbed him by the jaw.  “Măgar,” Nigel hissed the Romanian curse, sinking finger and thumb into the joints until pain forced teeth free.

Nigel had been right.  Will didn’t know him, barely knew him.  While Nigel had been given a fountain of information about Will from his brother long before Will had been given the opportunity to meet him, there was one thing he now knew for certain about Nigel.  He underestimated him.  

He saw Will as a mentally broken half starved man and not the FBI agent with experience taking down thugs bigger than a drug lord in Bucharest. He hunted the Ripper, and Nigel was no Ripper.

“We’re going to have a long, _long_ talk _darling_.”  Nigel seethed, “and then we’re-” he didn’t get to finish the thought, instead spitting another curse, eyes wide and unfocused. 

There’s no such thing as a ‘cheap shot’.  Not in the real world, not where it counted.  Will drove his knee where no man wanted to feel pain and took his chance to pull free, aiming a swing to knock the older man on his ass.  “I’m not your god-damn darling.”  He grabbed the gun, felt the awkward weight of it and aimed.  He wasn’t familiar with the weapon, but he didn’t have to be to aim.

Nigel groaned, forcing his body to unfurl when all it wanted to do was curl in on itself and turned his sight to Will.  He wasn’t looking at the barrel pointed to take him between the eyes, he was looking at the man holding it by the grip.  “You won’t shoot me.”  He grit and it was more than a challenge, it was a dare.

“Don’t tempt me Nigel.  I’m pretty pissed off.”

“What a coincidence.”  He moved a hand beneath him to push himself up.

“Stay down or I’ll blow off your knee-cap.”

The threat didn’t even make him pause, “I’ve watched you bluff before daring.”

“That gun didn’t have any ammo,” his finger tightened on the trigger, “I’m betting I don’t have that problem with this one.” 

“You’d win that bet.”

“I know I would.” And the confirmation stung.  There was a small dying part of him that didn’t want to believe that Nigel would cause him harm.  “So, let’s not test it.  You have a key for this door in your pocket.  Give it to me.”

Nigel smiled, wide and fierce, and pushed himself up. “No.”

Will aimed between his hands and fired, the warning shot slamming into Salamanca tile and bounced, just missing Nigel in its recoil as the projectile broke.

The weapon had looked like a gun, a little oddly shaped, but a traditional gun. 

It was a short barrel made for darts and Will had just fired off it’s only round.

Pained, Nigel picked up the broken dart and walked the used ammunition to the window, each step hindered by the welling pain of his groin.  Will watched the dart fall between the bars.  It left both without a weapon other than hands and teeth and whatever blunt objects they could lay their hands on.

Will could still wield his trusty ash tray – among other heavy projectiles – if he needed, but that could ultimately cause a problem for him.  If he continued his aggression toward Nigel, then Nigel would feel less inclined to give him certain things.  Like cutlery. Which Will doesn’t doubt will be needing if his capture lasted much longer.

“I am not a patient man Will, patient or forgiving.  You’ve been an exception up to this point.”  Because that patience had finally run out.  “But I think I’m done now.  If you want to be a prisoner, then I can more than accommodate that.”

It took everything in him not to give ground and step back as the predator approached, “I don’t want this Nigel, don’t try to tell yourself that I do.  You can’t “make me understand” because you can’t make me change my mind.  I chose Hannibal and I’m more than capable of protecting myself.”

“Which is why you needed me to put Iosif down?”  He stepped closer and Will braced himself for an attack, shoulders tense, weight at the balls of his feet.  Nigel enjoyed the way Will held himself as fellow predator.  He wouldn’t be taken down without a fight and it was a fire that drew him to him like a moth.  “You’re being hunted and you don’t know by whom.  But I do.  I know who these fuckers are and what they’re capable of, I know where they will go and how they will move and how they’re going to find you.  That’s why we’re here.”

Another step closer, “And where is here exactly?”

Nigel tsked, “Not something you need to worry yourself about just now.”

“I don’t get to know where I am?”  Every even step was taken with the kind of slow meant to trick a man.  Make them believe their opponent was off guard when really, they’re anything but.  Will wasn’t falling for it.

“Will it change your situation?”

Will shrugged half heartedly, “It’ll make me feel better.”

He shook his head, “It’ll help you plan an escape.  No, I don’t think it’s information you need to be privy to just yet.  I think I’ll leave you blissfully ignorant for now.”  Nigel stopped in front of him, maybe two feet apart. 

“If you’re trying to win me over,” Will said, “you’re only succeeding in making me hate you.”

“You’ll get over it.”  He smiled, “That’s what Stockholm’s for.”

“What?”

He was pissed, pissed that things had gotten so out of hand.  Pissed that he had lost to Hanni.  Pissed that he could not make his darling see the truth so clearly laid out in front of him.  “I’m going to keep you William.  I’m going to save you from your killers and I’m going to save you from my brother.”  Whether he liked it or not.  “Believe me, Hanni’s a real bastard once you get to know him.

Panic crept his spine, suspicions confirmed.  It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.  Left unsaid, he could hope he was wrong, now?  Now he had to face the truth.  “I know him fine.”

He laughed, “You don’t know shit about Hanni.  Nobody does.  You only know what he wants you to know.  The bastard’s great at head games, always has been.”  He pulled the familiar soft pack from the pocket of his shirt and tapped out a cigarette, pinching the but between his lips as he reached for his lighter and spoke around the butt.  “But I know him.  Every fucking truth, and every fucking secret and I know the lies he’s been feeding you.  I’m keeping you safe.”

“By keeping me locked up?”  Nigel at least had the decency not to blow smoke in his face, tilting his head release a blue grey cloud to the side.  “I know how Stockholm works Nigel, I cover Captor Bonding in my lectures.  I’m not about to let myself slip into it.”

“People don’t choose to suffer Stockholm syndrome darling,” he chuckled, taking another much-needed breath of nicotine, “it’s a survival instinct.”

“But you won’t kill me.”

“Yeah,” he said in a breath of smoke, “and I never would have killed Gabby either.”

That brought Will pause, how far could he push him?  “So, now you’re telling me that you might?”

“I’m saying it’s not so little a possibility as you may think.”

“The first step to captor bonding is trying to please your captor so you can survive.  Eventually they start question whether the feelings they’re projecting are real or fake and start to believe them themselves.”  Will outlined at it’s most basic, “I teach lessons on this, Nigel.  It won’t be nearly so easy to have me succumb to captor bonding.”

His smile didn’t falter, “Yeah?  What about your empathy?”  Will’s stomach sank, “How much of my love can you fucking ignore before it starts to reflect?”

That…that wasn’t fair, his empathy wasn’t something he could defend himself against.  The reason why going into the field was always so hard.

“Don’t try to play me Will.  You’re going to lose.”

Will charged.  He needed the key to get out of there and Nigel had it, had it and had no intention of making the first move.  Will was a cornered animal, scared and dangerous.  He would not let himself be caged.

Nigel took the shoulder that drove into him and rode it back to the wall, let Will hit him with everything he had to drive him back.  He hit the wall and used the sturdy back to brace himself, get his foothold and push off.

They hit the floor.  Where Will had made him grunt with the impact, he used his weight and bulkier frame to knock the wind from the profiler’s lungs, let the slighter man take the full impact and weight of their fall.

If he had been a healthier man it might not have worked, but starved muscle did little to protect oneself from attacks and a moment later Will was gasping.  He shoved struggling arms by his sides and changed position to straddle his love, pin his arms with strong legs on either side and hold him down with his weight on his chest.  “You are leaving me with very few choices right now.”  Nigel said and slipped a silver case from his pocket. It looked like it a plain cigarette case meant to hold half a pack of smoke to keep them from being crushed.

Except his smokes were in his soft pack and as bent out of shape as they’ve ever been.  This was for something far more delicate.

Will struggled to pull breath back into his lungs and jerked beneath the weight that held him down.  He panted, small gasps, tiny breaths, and watched fingers calloused by years of violence draw a small dart from the case.  Reloads for the abandoned gun. 

“I hope when you wake up again, you’ll be willing to talk a little more civil.”  He pushed Will’s shoulder down with one hand, ignored the growing bucks and twists beneath him and slipped the needles point beneath his skin.  “I take no joy in this darling.  Really I don’t.”  He tossed the second dart out the window and got up from Will.

Limbs freed, he still he couldn’t move. His energy draining from him as his consciousness was stolen, fading vision focused on the man who’d done this to him.

He scooped Will up, gentle, careful and heard the slurred mumble of the defeated man in his arms.  “That ma-akes…two…”

“Two.”  Nigel repeated, watching the last of Will’s consciousness slip away.  “Twice I’ve drugged you.”  He laid him back in bed, pulling the light blankets back over his sleeping form.  “Twice I’ve been forced to do something you hate for your own good.”  Will wouldn’t see reason.  Refused to look beyond the drug and kidnapping to the purpose of those actions.

He would have to show him then.

If Will couldn’t take him at his would, then Nigel would let him see the dangers he was protecting him from. He brushed a stray curl back from his face, thought of lips identical to his own laying claim to skin that should have been his and smiled. “I’ll show you all of them.”

Fishing a ring of keys from his pocket Nigel unlocked the door, stepping down the hallways on bare feet.  He didn’t bother closing Will’s door behind him.  There wasn’t a need, the man would be out for at least an hour and Nigel didn’t require that much time to do what needed to be done. 

He walked the short distance to his own bedroom, the one he would be staying in alone until Will warmed up to him again, and opened the trunk at the foot of their bed. This was something he’d had specially crafted after shooting Iosif.  A speciality item he’d hoped not to need and ordered just in case. 

There had been no way of guaranteeing Will’s co-operation in his own security and safe keeping and Nigel was a man who enjoyed plan B’s for unpredictable situations such as these.  Or maybe it was one of those things he’d picked up from his anal-retentive brother.  Usually his plans involved a gun and a body.  Quick, easy, and bloody.  This one required a little more planning than that, so maybe his twins influence could be blamed.  Or thanked.  Nigel had taken the extra precaution and now it appeared his efforts were paying off.

The length of heavy chain he pulled from the trunk was easily two fingers thick and long enough to stretch the first half of the house. It would give Will access to the entire of his bedroom and en suite and enough of the hallway that he could reach Nigel’s bedroom, 'their' future bedroom, without passing inside. He wanted Will to come to him when he was ready, give the man enough that he could seek him out, not murder him in his sleep because he had a length of chain to wrap around his throat.

Nigel hoped Will would take advantage of that length. He wanted to see those stormy eyes turn to him with need and desire.

He set the length of chain by the chest and turned his attention to fastens inside. Any of them would leave his sweet William feeling like a prisoner, but the collar would be the worst. Made to fit with a lock at the buckle, the heavy leather would be bound around his throat like a second skin. He would feel the heavy trail of chain crawling down his spin with every pull and movement, its weight tugging at his throat.

The illusion of choking...

Too much for his darling to endure.

The cuff for his wrist was a better option, compromising his ability to work at its lock with whatever makeshift key he could find with the loss of a hand. It would also quickly become irritating, beyond the obvious reassurance of being a ‘captive’, the cuff would weigh his arm and get in the way of even the simplest functions.

His last option was the ankle manacle.  The bulk of the chains weight dragging behind him instead of pulling at his throat or shoulder.  Of the three it would be the most comfortable to work with, tugging only when he chose to walk a distance.

It was also the easiest to escape.

“But escape to where?  He took his decided upon confine and closed the trunk. As brilliant as his darling William was, he couldn’t’ be perfect at everything.

Nigel fastened the leather lined metal ring around Will’s ankle, attaching the length of chain to his new cuff with a sturdy lock.  He would be pissed when he awoke again.  But at least this way Nigel wouldn’t need to worry about opening the door to a surprise attack anymore.  Especially once he was finished with the rest of the room.  He crouched down, attaching the chains end to the anchor under the bed.  He’d had it bolted through the floor, it’s thick screw passing through a support beam and out the ceiling below where it had been secured with a bolt.  Will could fight and pull all he liked at the metal ring, he wasn’t going anywhere. 

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your kudos are carving days into the walls and arguing over Hannibal or Nigel, your comments are making shives and picking locks for escape.
> 
> The author is dancing in the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are consoling lonely cannibal's while your comments are texting Nigel to move his ass.


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